


Enemy of my enemy

by Malicean



Series: Enemy of my enemy [1]
Category: Alien Series, Pitch Black (2000), The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-13 08:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 13,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17485094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malicean/pseuds/Malicean
Summary: The ageold question: Is the enemy of my enemy my friend – or my enemy? Don't take this story too seriously – I just thought it would be fun, to set up Tall, Dark and Dangerous with Huge, Black and Absolutely Murderous. Rated for violence and mild swearing





	1. What lurks in shadow

**Author's Note:**

> My New Year's resolution for 2019: crosspost my works from FFnet to AO3 at last.
> 
>  **Enemy of my enemy** was first posted on FFnet: 4/17/2006 - 12/10/2006.

* * *

It had been a long fight, as these fights went, but now it was drawing to an end. The man had lasted minutes, where seconds were the norm, but now he was hard put to keep his feet under him. Any moment now it would be over. And then it ended. And the audience stared.

"Replay this!" someone hissed.

It happened again.

"Replay the whole fight," another voice demanded.

They watched it again:

A tall man cleared the last of the three reinforced doors of the double airlock, rubbing his wrists where they had been cuffed behind his back till seconds ago. A few steps into the hall he stopped, carefully taking his bearings.

Not much to see. A lighting panel above the observation window at his back provided the only illumination, a tiny isle of light in a sea of shadows. A couple of beams loomed in the darkness, a forest of misshapen trees of steel hinting at great heights and wide space hidden in the gloom.

That is, the casual observer could see nothing – those watching the replay used a combination of night and thermal vision, while the man inside the hall … he pushed a pair of welding goggles from his eyes and murmured, "Interesting."

He made another step and from the shadowed ceiling shot a huge black spike, right for his heart. Usually it was over at this point, yet somehow the man had dodged the thrust, throwing himself aside, and when he stood again, a blade was in his hand. The spectators had started for a moment, fearing a severe breach of security, before realising that the 'blade' was just a shard of concrete, from where the floor had shattered in the past under the impact of the battering spike.

The man now kept his eyes fixed on a specific point of darkness – and with the hiss of live coals hitting water, from this point dropped a figure out of nightmare.

Three meters high, at least; the head alone, deltoid in shape, more than a meter long, lacking distinctive features but for the row of gleaming teeth forming the lower end, dripping a viscous slime. Three-fingered claws clenched and unclenched, adorning arms each longer than its human opponent. The creature stood upright on equally long legs, thick with muscles. Behind it, tripling easily its length, a long, serrated tail whipped through the air in crazy eights and circles, topped with the massive spike. All that an ebon black, reflective as obsidian. Living, most deadly, wild obsidian.

"Beautiful," the man said under his breath.

Maybe to prove the inappropriateness of this statement, maybe merely attracted by the sound, the beast dropped on all fours and pounced. The man dodged the attack, rolled to his feet, jumped clear as the tail blade came for him and threw himself backwards just in time as it swept over him in the backswing.

The creature hissed again, stared – if it had eyes – for a moment at this surprisingly elusive prey, and attacked once more. Running this time on its hind legs, front claws extended for the kill. Its tail, bent scorpion-wise over its own back, flailed left and right to keep the victim from escaping sideways. The man didn't try to. He stood there, motionless, as death bore down on him, then dove impossibly past clutching claws and clashing jaws to strike himself. The concrete blade found a soft spot where armoured belly joined the armoured thigh. Inhuman shrieks filled the air. A human scream followed.

Somehow the man managed to avoid the thrashing tail, though the sharp scales scraped shirt and skin clean of his back. Once on his feet, he staggered backwards, away from the still screeching beast. His blade – dissolved to nothingness; his right hand, cradled to his chest – scorched, as if he had made a grab for the business end of a plasma torch. A smoking, shapeless lump of flesh, no longer recognisable as human.

The creature, apparently dealt the minor wound, closed in again. On all fours, limping visibly but no longer shrieking. Instead it hissed venomously and rained a hail of tail strikes on its opponent. It took at least a dozen trials to hit the target, and then it was just a glancing blow. Enough to throw the man some twenty meters through the air, to land with an audible crack. Enough to end the fight.

Or so it should have been. The diamond-shaped head turned to observe the man rise stubbornly, painfully to all fours, then to his knees and, finally, his feet. He stood there, swaying, a few steps from the door where he had started, and refused to yield. As clearly visible to the observers, he was a mess. His back striped red with gashes where the tail had all but missed him, his chest partly caved in where it had not; his hand a ghastly ruin. Yet, still he faced the monster.

Which did the unthinkable thing. It made a few slow, careful steps until it reached the light. Then, rising to its full impressive height – it brought the right claw, ramrod-straight, to the side of its head.

The spectators gasped. The man stared. Somehow, somewhere the creature must have seen this gesture – and understood its significance – and now it gave a foe who had fought well a last salute.

The man grinned through a mask of pain and returned the salutation with his good hand. He made no movement to escape as the beast stepped closer and wrapped its claws quite tenderly around him. Two at his back, the third, opposable as the human thumb, across his chest. The huge head dropped until it came as close to face-to-face as it could ever be with such a size.

And then the man jerked once and slumped, and the observers saw a black claw dripping red emerge from his back, left to the spine. A moment later predator and prey had vanished into the vast shadow-filled background of the hall.

"Most remarkable," one of the watchers said. "I believe this is the first time that any kind of imitational behaviour was observed. And then such an extraordinary performance."

"Not really extraordinary," another replied. "The soldiers salute all the time. I bet, in the old facility she saw it quite often. A simple hand wave. Plus, a lot of creatures possess a way of formal greeting, and it doesn't even take too much intelligence to make the transfer. For example, dogs can learn to interpret the body language of cats and vice versa. We shouldn't make too much of it."

"I wonder, why did she not perform the usual head-bite?" mused a third.


	2. Conversations in the dark

If the vast hall had been gloomy, this chamber was as dark as a crypt. And not only that, the vaulted ceiling, the vaguely ornamental walls, the whole setting exuded sepulchrality. There even was an inert figure resting in the background.

A figure that went from limp, unconscious, to well-coordinated action within the blinking of an eye. Or tried to. A sticky substance covered the torso and part of the limbs, cobweb-like yet strong enough to give not for a finger's breadth despite powerful muscles straining underneath. It held the captive fastened to the slanted wall – or maybe slanted floor.

On second thought, the room provoked, too, another disconcerting mental picture: lacking right angles, the walls adorned with bulging ridges and looking distinctively … _organic_ in their texture.

"Inside the belly of the beast." The quiet words died quickly in the fetid air.

A movement caught the speaker's eye and he fought his restraints again. With the effect that huge claws enveloped his head and forced his face in a particular direction. There was writing on the wall. Crudely carven, yet legible.

DO NOT MOVE: YOU NEED TO HEAL

The struggling ceased. The claws retracted. From where it had clung, invisible until it moved, the great black beast slid down the wall and squatted, halfway between the writing and the reader.

"You can write," the man said slowly.

In keeping with its size, the answer was a most impressive nod.

"Do they know?"

The giant head shook.

The man grinned savagely. "How interesting."

Maybe the beast returned the grin – with teeth perpetually bared, it was impossible to say.

"Who are you?" came the next question.

The tail blade swished over the wall, wiping it blank. Then, without looking, a claw engraved into the waxy substance:

NO ENEMY

"As proven by the hole right through my chest," the man challenged.

A HOLE YOU TALK ABOUT

"Good point," the man conceded. "How did you do this, by the way?"

Before his eyes a claw flexed, turning from arrow-straight to full circle and back. The writing read:

I SEE YOUR HEART – CUT AROUND IT

The man laughed, stopped and said, "Still hurts. But nice trick."

HEALS IN TIME

"How?"

LONG STORY

The man raised a sardonic eyebrow. "No pressing appointments. You?"

The giant head tilted, then shook.

SEEN MY KIND BEFORE?

"No."

OLD RACE, PREDATORY. WE FEED ON FRESH KILLS, RAISE YOUNG IN LIVING FLESH

"A pleasure to meet you."

The creature gave no reaction to the sarcastic pleasantry, but wrote on.

WE HEAL FAST. THEY – SCIENTISTS, MILITARY – WANT IT, THINK IT'S IN BLOOD. PART IS – PART IS HIVE

A generous sweep of the ebon arm indicated the surroundings.

HIVE HEALS – HIVE KEEPS PREY ALIVE FOR THE YOUNG

The man's eyes, bright lights in the darkness, became slits. The creature wrote on.

HEALS THEM IF NECESSARY

"That would be me."

Another gigantic nod.

HIVE HEALS YOU

"For the young."


	3. Elucidations

* * *

NO

"No?"

THERE ARE NO YOUNG. NOT HERE!

"Why not?" There was a trace of mocking in the man's voice. "Neighbourhood's not right?"

NO

These were no letters being engraved, these were slashes drawn across the whole wall. Somewhere behind the adamant exterior he had hit a nerve. The ghost of a smile ran over the man's face. Nevertheless, he changed the topic. Slightly.

"Been here for some time?"

TOO LONG

"How come? You don't look the type a barred door could stop for long."

THEY KNOW MY STRENGTH. THESE DOORS WERE BUILD FOR ME – AGAINST ME

"But they don't know you can think." A statement, not a question.

SMART BEAST

Whatever that was supposed to mean. The man chuckled.

"Never said I wasn't."

The creature growled. With exaggerated care it smoothed the wall before writing:

COMMON MISCONCEPTION

"Misconception?"

HUMANS THINKING THEY ARE SMART

The man laughed aloud. "Makes things easier for us beasts."

He sobered. "Now, how would a creature like you know how a joke works?"

The giant beast paused, silent, motionless. Then it began to scribble furiously.

WE ARE SURVIVORS – VERY STRONG IMMUNOSYSTEM. BUT ONCE A VIRUS MANAGED TO GAIN HOLD IN ONE OF US. RECOMBINED DNA, SCRAMBLED IT, KILLED HOST SLOWLY. SHUNNED BY OTHERS – HUNGRY, CRAZY, DYING.

BUT: HUMANS ON THIS PLANET. BIT A HUMAN. VIRUS TRANSFER: RECOMBINED DNA. BOTH. HUMAN + BEAST. ME. HUMAN LIVED – NO LONGER HUMAN – STRONGER DNA TOOK OVER BODY, SLOWLY.

BUT: WE CODE MEMORY IN DNA – HUMAN MEMORY WAS INCLUDED. I REMEMBER BEING HUMAN, LONG AGO.

"You're a fucking werewolf!"

NO MOON. NO TRANSFORMATIONS – ONLY ONCE.

"Trivial details. You still spread that virus with your bite? Or your blood, maybe?"

NO. I KILL WITH MY BITE. MY BLOOD BURNS – YOU SHOULD KNOW.

The arm sheathed past the elbow in the sticky material twitched. "Point taken. But you ain't sure about the virus, are you? Maybe your scientific friends are after that."

THOSE WHO KNEW DIED ON THAT PLANET. WE ARE NOT FRIENDLY NEIGHBOURS – HUNTERS, VORACIOUS. THE OUTPOST WAS DESTROYED, BOMBED OUT.

THEY DON'T KNOW I CAN THINK LIKE THEM.

"Then how can they keep you contained? And, coming back to my former question, how sure are you about the virus?"

MY BLOOD IS SAFE – TOO MANY TOUCHED IT BUT NO OTHER OF MY KIND AROUND – I WOULD FEEL. SALIVA, TOO. THEY SAMPLED MUCH, ONLY THING THEY CAN HANDLE – ONE OF THEM LOST TWO FINGERS AT THAT, BUT IS STILL AROUND. SATISFIED? YOU ARE SAFE.

The man shrugged. "Safety is an overrated notion. More interesting is: how can they hold you?"

INTELLIGENCE DOESN'T MATTER – SIZE DOES

A nod, another savage grin. "My cue."

EXACTLY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dialogue sucks, at least when I write it – and this is pure dialogue! But if you made it this far, maybe you'll stay with me, nevertheless ;)
> 
> Another point: yes, huge, black & murderous is a creature of the alien variety, also called xenomorphs. As Alien: Resurrection is not only a stupid movie wallowing in ugliness but also ruins a perfectly good monster, I decided to create my own little crossbreed. The fantastic design of the one side (including gravity-defying climbing skills, echolocation or something close to 'see' without light and get a bit of inside views, weaponizable tail etc., etc.) plus the intelligence AND technical knowledge of the other. Since today's tried-and-true method to transfer genes from one organism to another works via viruses – voilà, here comes a monster you should really be afraid of.


	4. Trust

For a while the tiny hive fell silent.

"How long will the 'hive' need to finish the healing?"

HOURS. WE WAIT FOR DAY – THEY ARE LESS WATCHFUL THEN.

"Really? Nocturnal animals, how curious."

I AM

"You are?"

NOCTURNAL – SO THEY ARE.

The man nodded. "What's the plan?

TRUST

"I don't do trust." There was a sharp undertone in his voice.

COMMON ENEMY, COMMON GOAL. YOU TRUST ME – I TRUST YOU – NO OTHER WAY OUT

The man scowled, then grunted assent. "Let's hear the plan."

VENTILATION SHAFT. I CAN'T CLIMB IT – HIGH VOLTAGE WALLS. I GIVE YOU A LIFT – NOT TOUCHING WALLS. YOU TAKE AIRDUCT TO DOOR – OPEN IT.

"Why should I open the door for you, once I'm out of this hellhole?"

TRUST

The man stared at the monster for a long moment – and started to laugh. A sharp, mirthless, barking laugh.

"Fine," he said finally. "Let's rely on trust."

He asked for some details, the creature sketched them on the wall. The rest of the night was spent in silence.

It was not before the creature made to leave that the man spoke up again.

"We need some way to call each other. Any ideas?"

It made a short rumbling sound, like a husky voice saying "Rrr" at the bottom of a well.

"R," he repeated, a knowing smile spreading on his lips, as if there was a private joke he didn't care to share. "Perfect. What about you? Got a name?"

A short pause, then the giant head shook.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "Nothing you call yourself?"

MY KIND HAVE NO NAMES BECAUSE WE HAVE NO WORDS.

"No words."

QUEEN THINKS – ALL KNOW. ONE KNOWS – QUEEN KNOWS.

"Telepathy." There was a hint of admiration in 'R's voice.

The creature shrugged.

"I'll call you 'B', then."

BEAST – BLACK – BEAUTIFUL?

"All of it." 'R' grinned. "And more."


	5. Out of the dark

The airshaft, a little bit less than a meter square, had once been covered by a grate set in plane with the ceiling of the hall. Now there was nothing left but a bent and dented steel plate lining the edges of the shaft. Above the ragged entrance, scratched metal dominated the vertical walls for the first two or three meters, to rise unmarred for at least another ten, up to a slowly spinning ventilator. The air, warm and stifling here at the highest point of the hall, barely moved towards it.

The creature flung a piece of scrap metal up into the shaft. Blue sparks erupted, a centimeter or two before it reached the walls. The beast let the red-hot lump fall past it, then rolled its tail back until the tip almost touched its head. Distance, bad ventilation resulting in hot air pockets under the ceiling and the huge reflecting bulk of the creature had hidden the man from the thermal sensors so far, as he clung to the beast's chest during their upside-down race across the ceiling.

Now 'R' slid onto the tailblade – more than a meter long and wide enough to stand on it – crouching at first, then upright as the tail sunk away from the ceiling. The tail curved cautiously until he stood directly under the airshaft. Raising his arms above his head, he nodded. The tail sunk even lower.

Then, faster than the eye could follow, it slammed into the ceiling. Again and again. The steel plate rang and groaned and clattered.

"Pizza," one of the observers said.

"Huh?" His comrade gave him a blank look.

"Must be pizza for lunch," the first one explained. "She's always going crazy at the airshaft when there's pizza on the menu."

High above the racket, 'R' hung from a ventilator blade, just for a moment, before he vaulted upwards and drew himself onto the rotor base with catlike ease. The creature had a good eye for distances and angles, he had to admit. The powerful tail had catapulted him perfectly vertically through the middle of the shaft, the upward acceleration carrying him precisely to the point where the ventilator blades were within easy reach. And they were ridiculously slow, more than simple to get a hold on them.

The ventilator had been faster at the beginning, the beast had explained. A sharp-bladed shredder, to discourage all escape attempts at the first glance. Fast enough to tear itself apart when an artful flick of the long tail had sent a solid piece of steel between the rotating blades. After replacing the third rotor, the maintenance crew had opted for the slow version, insufficient in terms of ventilation of the vast hall beneath, but no longer in danger from its own momentum.

'R' pulled off the thick working gloves that had protected him from the sharp edges of the rotor blades and studied his hands. The right one was still covered with the dark resilient substance forming the insides of the hive, lending it an alien, inhuman appearance, but it was functional again. It was more than he would ever have expected.

Turning back to the task at hand, he stepped from the beam supporting the rotor's axis into a small chamber, barely big enough to allow for maintenance of the ventilator at his feet. A grating in the wall in front of him sealed a vent about half as wide as the well behind him, and a sturdy door was set into the wall to his left. Nothing in the tool belt at his hip would open the door, so he turned his attention to the grating. A minute later it was open.

The creature had produced the tool belt and the gloves without commentary, but in response to a raised eyebrow it had elaborated their origin. Upon installing the slow ventilator, a grating had been planned below it, as an additional barrier. The technician intending to set up the sockets for said grating had to lean into the shaft. He had been hit by another piece of flying debris shooting up the well, and while the security harness had not allowed his body to drop into the hall below, it had contained enough slack for his limp form to slump into the high-voltage lining of the shaft. It had not mattered to him – he was dead already – but his companion, not wearing a harness, had touched the body and garnered enough electricity to tumble screamingly into the well. He had hit the ground hard – or at least something not really softer than concrete, waiting for him at the bottom of the shaft.

Smiling grimly at the thought, 'R' crawled into the airduct.

A few turns and, most importantly, an awkwardly braced slide headfirst down a long vertical jute later, he inched toward another grating. This time it was a horizontal one, situated above the corridor leading towards the entrance of the hall and the observation room.

The corridor lay deserted. A bit of fumbling and some well-placed brute force convinced the grating to give way.

The corridor fell under another intense scrutiny. Thin lines crisscrossed the air every few meters, where sensor beams were caught on floating dust. A pair of heavy automatic guns loomed at the far end.

"Afraid of their little pet?"

Between the grating and the door of the observation room the way was clear, but the door itself required a keycard.

'R' settled to wait – displaying a patience that usually comes in an attractively patterned fur to lounge on a sycamore.


	6. Say hello to a friend

Inside the observation room, the man who had predicted pizza stretched and rose.

"Want some coffee?" he asked.

The other watchman shook his head without looking up from his screen. He did look up, however, when he heard the door open but not close.

His colleague was still standing at the doorway, then seemed to step aside to let somebody enter. Strangely enough, he crumpled at the newcomer's feet, revealing a tall man, stripped to the waist, with a predatory smile and a screwdriver, red to the hilt, in one hand. The other shut the massive door behind him.

"You are dead," the man at the desk said disbelievingly.

"Death and I are old friends," was the nonchalant reply.

The newcomer certainly looked the part. The bright red blood couldn't hide the fact that his right hand was a blackened claw no human being had the right to use as a functional appendage – unless, of course, for shaking hands with the grim reaper. More blackish tissue covered a fresh scar on his chest and – though that wasn't visible to the man confronting him – formed veritable tiger-stripes across his back.

Maybe it was the sight, maybe the ominous tone; whatever broke the spell, it caused the observer to lunge towards the other side of the desk. The outstretched hand stopped short of the huge red alarm button. Nailed to a computer terminal throwing up protesting sparks by the screwdriver, driven full-length through flesh and metal. The intruder still gripped the sharp-edged tool in his grotesque hand. Silvery eyes flamed terrifyingly close.

Now disbelief and shock were losing against pain and fear.

"What do you want?" the wounded man asked in a strained voice.

"Say hello to a friend," was the cryptic answer.

"A friend?" Again, there was clear disbelief in the observer's tone.

"A very trusting person, I could impossibly disappoint those high expectations." A feral grin flashed up and disappeared. "Open the airlocks!"

The watchman's eyes bulged. He shot a quick look through the dark window behind him, into the seemingly deserted hall.

"I said. Open. The. Airlocks." Danger was growing thick _this side_ of the heavy security glass.

"I can't! It takes a Level Five code card to open it." Desperation lent its own harsh pitch to the observer's voice.

"Emergency override?" Exasperation sharpened the edges of his opponent's.

"What kind of emergency would involve going in THERE?"

The argument didn't seem to impress the intruder much, but he did change his line of inquiry. "Who has a Level Five card?"

An almost unnoticeable pause. "Nevins has …."

"Who's that?"

"Chief of security," the watchman had to admit.

"Nice try." 'R' smiled. Not actually a reassuring sight. "Who else?"

"The lead scientist, Dr Verndyke."


	7. Intriguing

"Dr Verndyke? This is Collins in the observation room, sir."

A grumbling voice answered the third call. "This better be good."

"Sir, could you come down here, please? She is behaving strangely."

"What do you mean, man, 'behaving strangely'?"

Collins looked up inquiringly at 'R'. Who silently pointed a thumb towards the observation window.

When Collins answered, his voice held just the right tone of incredulous puzzlement. "You'll have to see for yourself, sir. You wouldn't believe it."

For outside in the darkened hall, the great black monster was skipping happily over its own tail.

Ooo oo oo ooO

Tense minutes crawled by. Then the door of the observation room opened and a middle-aged man, radiating authority like a furnace heat, stepped inside with an impatient air. He addressed the man still staring through the window.

"What's the matter, Collins? She was fed just yesterday –"

"Maybe there was an agreement with the food," the back of the room suggested.

The senior scientist did not look so much shocked than affronted. "You are dead," he said accusingly.

"Made a deal with him."

"How could one possibly make a deal … you established some kind of communication?" Dr Verdyke sounded intrigued.

'R' stared back at him, calm as ten inches of snow. "We found some common ground."

"Common ground?" The scientist raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes. Enemy of my enemy, and so on."

"Exploiting rivalries. _Divide et impera_." Dr Verndyke was positively captivated.

"You have to tell me everything!" he demanded. With that, he seated himself on the deserted chair, accidentally jostling his neighbour. Collins silently slipped to the floor, to lie with his head bent back at an unnatural angle. The dead man failed to provoke any signs of sympathy, but maybe the scientist was a little bit more wary when he asked, "How did you survive the fight?"

"As I said, I made a deal with death." The appraising-new-specimen-stare ricocheted cleanly off 'R's inexpressive face. "A deal concerning open doors. You will open them for me."

"Listen," Dr Verndyke's tone became … _condescending_. "It would be quite unsafe to open the door. She's a wild beast that kills without thinking –"

"Which, of course, is so much worse than killing with thinking."

"That is not the point." The scientist waved away the riposte impatiently. "She is ravenously hungry and will kill both of us the moment she –"

"No."

"Pardon me?"

"She won't kill both of us," 'R' stated with dead certainty. "Now open the doors!"

Dr Verndyke assessed his opponent with a calculating look. "Very well, then," he said and reached for the controls in front of him.

"And don't try anything stupid," a soft voice whispered in his ear. To call it a purr might have provoked mental images of cute little kittens that were extremely out of place. A voice like this would eat cute little kittens for breakfast. And kill the milkman for a sip of cream afterwards. But it was the next best fit. "Collins here was forthcoming enough to tell me how it works – before he passed away."

The scientist hid his alarm quite well. His eyes hovered merely a moment over the terminal nearby, which sported not only a jagged hole but also some dark, sticky blotches. "Then you surely know that the airlock doors open in a predetermined sequence, one after the other, from the inside out. With this side being the inside, of course."

"Of course," the purring voice echoed mockingly. "We'll find a way to get inside, nonetheless, won't we?"

It took two keycards, actually, though only one of them Level Five. Inserted simultaneously, and aided by matching fingerprints. Plus some other things. Security really had a capital S here. But it worked.

The airlocks opened and closed in predefined succession. A flurry of movement followed the opening of last door. The black beast dropped into view in front of the observation window, nodded in its own exaggerated way and stalked cautiously into the airlock. It took some hard folding to press the huge body into the chamber. The sequence began again. It seemed to be an even tighter fit in the second airlock.

Nevertheless, the creature proceeded with extreme caution as it stepped into the corridor. Immediately behind the airlock door, it stopped.

"A little bit shy, the girl," 'R' said straight-facedly. "Won't come any closer without an invitation. We should go and welcome her."


	8. Trust issues

A firm grip propelled the scientist towards the door of the observation room and through it.

Less than three steps away, the huge beast filled the corridor, wall to wall and floor to ceiling. Seeing that the creature gave 'R' another stiff nod for greeting, without making any further aggressive movements, Dr. Verndyke seemed mesmerized.

"Magnificent," he said, stepping forward.

His head literally exploded. 'R' used the back of his hand to wipe the red spray from his face.

"Room service's been so bad?" he asked.

Without the jaws stopping to munch, a black claw was dipped into the growing puddle on the floor.

32 DAYS NO FOOD

"Thirty-two days." The man whistled. "They feed you every first of the month?"

No visible reaction. 'R' nodded nevertheless.

"A live human every month – that I call a diet."

It took the beast less than five minutes to devour the mortal remains of a brilliant – if morally questionable – scientist. Then, without warning, two black claws seized 'R', pinning his arms at his sides, and then the creature rushed along the corridor, the twisting body held in front of it as a human shield.

A puny shield, considering the heavy calibre of the automatic guns that human flesh and bone would barely slow down. But the guns didn't open fire. They jerked once to target the object cutting through the sensor beams – and left it at that.

Two seconds later, the beast had reached the corner and stormed down another hallway – at right angles to the first – leaving the sound of crushing metal in its wake. Another set of twin guns held the end of the new corridor but they, too, didn't start to shoot.

A series of similar corridors followed, until eventually an overhead thrust of the tailblade smashed a last gun turret dominating a massive airlock and the headlong flight ended.

The man was set down. His feet had barely touched the ground before he swivelled 'round, icy rage on his face. His lips moved as if to speak, but there would have been no answer, anyway.

The monster's head tilted, deliberately, until both chins were on the same level. 'R' did not back down. Quite the opposite – with a clearly aggressive move, he pushed his head forward until the dripping jaws, that had crushed a human skull minutes ago, almost touched him.

"Trust!" he spat.

The odd staring contest continued for a few seconds stretching towards eternity, then it was the eyeless skull that turned away. Reaching behind its back the creature recovered a clipboard it had filched somewhere. The giant claws struggled a bit with the respective pen, but then a written message was thrust into 'R's face. It read:

SENSORS TRIGGERED BY MOTION + BODY HEAT. GUNS REACT TO MOTIONS WITHOUT WARMTH – LIKE ME – NOT HUMANS

" _Now,_ you tell me." Sarcasm was dripping off the words, at least as acidic as anything the monster could produce.

TRUST ME? WITH A MOUTH FULL OF HUMAN FLESH AND NO GUARANTIES?

The man scowled, then turned his back demonstratively at the beast and took a look at the airlock. Beyond the double doors the thick windows disclosed a much better lit and generally much friendlier looking passageway, leading to some living quarters, presumably.

'R' inserted the late Dr Verdyke's key card in a slot beside the door.

"Please enter security code," a pseudo-female voice demanded.

"Any ideas, bighead?"

A long black arm reached over his shoulder and typed a seven-digit code.

"Thank you, Dr Verndyke," the door said before opening.

The clipboard appeared again before he could ask.

ONEWAY-WINDOW – NOT FOR ME

'R' acknowledged with a nod and turned to his strange partner with a face that had at least calmed into 'stony'.

"Ladies first," he said with a mock bow.

To find himself slammed face-first into the wall by a giant claw around his throat. A hiss like a ruptured steam pipe sprayed his back and neck with droplets of slime that bubbled where they hit the late Collins' jacket and burned on the naked skin. Concrete particles rained down as the free claw dug into the wall above his head. He was jerked backwards.

VERNDYKE CALLED ME HIS LADY – DON'T YOU DARE!

"Quite some history between the two of you, huh?"

The venomous hiss was as clear an advice to drop the topic as any word – written or spoken – could have ever been, yet somehow 'R' managed to miss the hint.

"Don't pull that act on me. I've seen worse," he snarled. "Now we either drop the whole 'trust' thing, here and now, or we sort some things out."

The claws around his neck clenched. Both of 'R's hands came up, the guns of the dead observers all but touching the ebon head behind him.


	9. Deal's still on?

* * *

The giant tailblade knocked both guns aside, but at the end of the corridor there was neither the space to swing it full force nor to keep a hold on the man while the tail swept past.

For a moment it was a classical Mexican standoff – any move spelling doom for both opponents. Braced with his back against the wall, 'R' wasn't about to miss a target practically touching the muzzles of the heavy guns – while for the creature he was literally within reach, and even if the bullets somehow managed to cause instant death, he would still die horribly under a spurt of highly corrosive blood.

"Please enter the security airlock," the door said cheerily. "The door will close automatically in thirty seconds."

Very slowly and in perfect timing with each other, 'R' lowered his guns while the creature let its tail relax onto the floor and folded its arms across the chest.

"Deal's still on?"

A clawed foot scratched over the floor.

TRUST

It was a tight fit, but man and monster found a way to arrange themselves into the airlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Short, I admit, but I really had to end the last chapter where I did ;)


	10. Not human

* * *

The first thing 'R' did after entering the new corridor was to kill the lights.

The lurid red glow of the emergency lighting could not hide the discrepancy between the clinical peace and quiet of the locality and the odd pair of intruders completely – but it certainly made sure that _'from hell'_ was among the first words springing to the mind of anyone walking in on them.

"What's the matter, between you and the doc?" the man asked the monster, next. Light tone, belied by the tension humming through the whole body.

YOU WON'T UNDERSTAND

"Try me."

THERE IS NO HAPPINESS WITHOUT A HIVE – FOR MY KIND. NO PEACE, NO CONTENTMENT. ONLY A BURNING DESIRE: TO FIND, TO PROTECT, TO GAIN A HIVE THEY WOULD DO ANYTHING. NO FEAR, NO PAIN TO STOP THEM. THOSE WHO CAN CHANGE BODILY TO CREATE A NEW ONE, IF NECESSARY.

BUT: IF THE HIVE IS WELL, THERE IS BLISS.

'R' nodded.

I AM DIFFERENT: HUMAN MEMORIES – I KNOW THERE CAN BE NO HIVE HERE. BUT THE CRAVING REMAINS.

AND: YOUNG ARE PART OF THE HIVE – CHILD IS YOUNG, HUMAN MEMORY PERSISTS!

"Child?" Not much of a visible reaction, but deep down in the voice, danger reared its ugly head.

HE SENT ME A CHILD – FOR FOOD. I NEVER TOUCHED HIM – HE LET HIM DIE IN THE DARKNESS, ALONE, WATCHED THROUGH THE WINDOW. V IS ENEMY!

The last word was occupying all that was left of writing space. It was punctuated with an angry hiss.

"He definitely deserved having his head taken off," 'R' said with a hint of regret in his voice, "as the last part of his body."

WE KILL WORST ENEMY FASTEST

"You're not human, I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Innermost thoughts of an eusocial raptor. By someone struggling hard even to convey human motivations. Not my best chapter ever. Anyway, both Riddick and the Alien creature feature a little girl at some point of the storyline. So in the sense of sexual equality, I had to introduce a little boy here. ;)


	11. Bizarre behaviour

There were no living quarters along this corridor. There were laboratories and offices. Mostly deserted at this time of the day, but not completely.

An assistant tending to a variety of lab animals observed a most peculiar phenomenon: all of a sudden, general panic broke out among his charges – frenzied, screaming panic – followed by absolute silence when each and every creature in his care cowered in fright.

The strange occurrence held his attention so thoroughly that he literally jumped when someone knocked against the inside of the silently opened door. A tough-looking man stood in the entrance, a smile on his lips that wasn't exactly friendly, but there was no way how he could have possibly caused the bizarre behaviour of the animals.

"You are in charge of the beasts here?" the newcomer asked.

The assistant nodded absentmindedly.

"All of them?" the stranger insisted.

"Yeah," he replied indignantly. "I'm in charge of all the research animals. Why?"

"There have been complaints about the food," the other man replied enigmatically. Then he stepped aside and, despite his bulk, he suddenly looked very small.

Again there was a moment of frantic panic, then – silence.

The living quarters came in the next corridor.


	12. A shadow

Someone had opted for a high atrium, intended to create the illusion of open space – and failing miserably – surrounded by little apartments. There were sickly looking plants in the cramped court beneath a pseudo-skylight, benches and even a little fountain.

One of the benches was occupied. A balding man, reading a book, looked up to see a dark-skinned thug – roughed-up jacket over a bare chest, eyes hidden behind smoke-colored shooting glasses – approach him, sighed wearily and said, "No, we don't have any alcohol. No, we don't have cigarettes because the whole facility is a non-smoking area, and no, there are no women in this wing, either. Which is the west wing, by the way, and security personnel is recommended to stay in the east wing when off-duty."

This statement delivered, he resumed his reading.

"Thank you, sir, you have been very helpful," a calm voice replied.

The polite answer was so unexpected that the reader looked up sharply in surprise. The apparent security man had already turned to leave.

"What a wonderful thing telepathy is," he said to no one in particular, "all those misunderstandings that could be avoided. Your kind is missing all the fun, Bee."

The interrupted reader didn't pay much attention to that. He had noticed something far more fascinating: as the stranger walked away, his shadow didn't follow. It stayed and stretched out, a weirdly shaped, elongated blotch of darkness, barely connected to the retreating feet.

No longer connected _at all_ , in fact. Whatever cast this shadow might have come with the tall man, but it wasn't leaving with him. The thin-haired man looked up.

Unlike most of the other inhabitants of the west wing who never saw it coming, he did. Whether he considered himself fortunate on that account, or not, remained his secret. He almost managed to scream.


	13. Security

Some storeys higher, a game of cards was well under way. Stakes were piled up and shoved around, boasts and dismissals flew across the table, heavy guns leaned at each player's chair. All participants – and spectators – were extremely focused.

One by one the life-signs on the huge master security screen faded away. Unnoticed.

"Paying time, ladies," one of the players said, spreading out his cards.

General groans arose but no one contradicted him. Greying stubble over an angular chin, lean and sinewy, it was hard to imagine anyone standing up against him – even those around the table packing twice his mass in sheer muscle. Too much steel in his eyes.

The winner leaned back, triumphantly, with his chair – and sent it flying as he jumped to his feet. He swore, colourfully, viciously.

The blinking lights in the west wing were down to three. Following his stare, the other occupants of the control room saw two of the lights coalesce, and when one of them moved on, the other died away.

The greying man cursed again. Then a rapid stream of orders replaced the imprecations and the whole room broke into action. Alarms began to blare, the master screen lit up with ever new signals as more and more sensors were fed into it. Red barriers appeared where doors sealed themselves, automatic weapons reported their status with green dots, life-signs switched to white.

And yet, among all the fireworks, it became painfully obvious that a great portion of the blue print remained ominously dark. Not a single white light shone there, dull red dots marked winding corridors where gun turrets failed to report. Security cameras refused to come online.

A dark purple spot appeared in the centre of the west wing, jumped towards the sole remaining white spot and rushed away with it.

"Poor bastard," one of the security men said.

Their leader impatiently waved him off. "What the hell is it doing in that corner?"

"Um, err … eating him?"

"Tough guy, if he keeps alive that long!"


	14. Nox

According to the skylight crowning the west wing's atrium, a cloudy moonless night had fallen suddenly.

With a couple of hundreds of meters of solid rock above the research facility, and the 'skylight' being simply a large arrangement of lighting panels mimicking sunlight, it meant that someone had cut the power lines.

High above the floor, 'R' knelt on the armoured belly of the black beast hanging from the ceiling and fiddled inside an opened panel.

"Move it, 'B'!" he hissed abruptly.

The creature let go.

Ten meters from the ground it submitted to gravity, swung the long tail around to give the rest of the body momentum enough to right itself, and folded the long arms around the body slipping off its chest.

'B' had not yet fallen on its feet like a cat when a sharp jab of lightning shot over the position it had just vacated.

All of the power usually sustaining a whole wing of the subterranean facility suddenly … left its customary ways and moved along other, less suited channels. The air smelled burned. Sparks rained from the walls in total darkness. Even the emergency lights were dead.

Part of the blue print on the master security screen flickered once and vanished.


	15. Blackout

* * *

The doors were heavy. Even with their locking mechanism disabled by lack of power, their sheer weight sealed them efficiently.

Half a dozen men, four bulky securities, two technicians, tried to force their way into the shut-down part of the facility and failed. Cursing the unyielding blocks of metal, they sent for some heavy gear.

Ooo oo oo ooO

A few corridors away, a similar door groaned and opened slowly. Glinting black claws appeared in the widening crack, an equally hued spike was wedged between them and then the door practically jumped aside. A huge diamond-shaped head emerged through the opening, a truly impressive sight – had been there anything to see with. On both sides of the forcefully opened door reigned Stygian darkness. The absolute, impenetrable blackness of deep underground caves devoid of any artificial lighting.

A dull crash indicated a powerful impact on something metallic.

"The guns won't come online again, _trust_ me," a disembodied voice remarked indignantly.

For some seconds only soft scratching was the answer, then a smacking sound was audible, like a human head being hit with a clipboard.

The human growled. A tiny light-stick shone ghostly in the gloom, revealing crude writing reading:

I TRUST YOU

"Just marking the way, in case we get lost in the dark, hmm?"

Crouching jockey-style between the spikes growing from the shoulder blades of the black beast, 'R' kicked the backside of the massive neck shield in front of him and dropped the clipboard carelessly over the side.

Black claws caught it easily, scribbled an answer and – threw it back. The illumination provided by the light-stick saved the rider from being hit in the face a second time.

BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY

'R' grinned.

Another automatic gun crumbled like tinfoil under the impact of the giant tailblade darting over the shoulder of the beast. The sharp scales passed within centimetres of the man's head.

The grin didn't falter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In case you wondered about the light-stick: a cat can't see in darkness, it can only see by very little light. Same here, no light equals nothing to see, eye-shine or not.


	16. Survivor

Darkness ruled.

Silence was co-sovereign. Only the keenest ears might have perceived a soft clicking noise as someone – something – moved along the lightless corridors.

And stopped. Abruptly. Silence ruled absolute.

"You hear something?" the softest of whispers pierced the black hush.

Instead of an answer, the creature reached back and plucked the rider from its back. There was no sound. But a very faint vibration travelled through the floor and the walls. The ghost of a noise.

Long fingers reached for the man's face, running down his cheek, cool and smooth as polished marble. A surprisingly gentle gesture for such a huge and murderous monster.

Then it slapped him. Or that would have been the translation for a human hand. Now the force of the blow sent 'R' to the ground, stunned and bleeding where the claws had raked over his face.

In total darkness the beast jumped and was gone.

Ooo oo oo ooO

With a final heave of the hydraulic lifter the door opened.

Brilliant light flooded the corridor, causing the man on the ground to throw his arm over his eyes with a muffled cry. Heavy guns appeared in the opening, homing in on the moving body. Armoured men spread out into the corridor, one of them equipped with a motion-tracker on his wrist.

"Clear," the latter said after sweeping the corridor, before bellowing over his shoulder, "We have a survivor here!"

"Careful," a figure in light grey admonished, looking tiny between the bulky armours surrounding him. "You are blinding him. Dark-light adaptation takes a few minutes, especially if he spent some time in total darkness. Get out of my way!"

The medic bent down, trying to pry the protecting arm from the half-conscious man's face. The security men gathered around them, curiously.

The ceiling came down on them. Four clawed members, a long sharp tail – the moment the black beast touched the ground, it had accounted for the whole group of investigators. Not all of them completely dead, but none able to fight back.

'R' pushed the medic's spasming upper torso off his chest before he ducked out from under the creature's head.

Standing right in front of the dripping jaws, he said, "Trust, again, I suppose?"

The giant head nodded. Then it sank lower and bit down hard on the head of the squirming body beneath the front left claw. The visor of the helmet shattered, the body jerked once and stilled. The same happened to the unfortunate man on the right.


	17. Afraid of the dark?

Paranoia could keep you alive.

As a man who had just seen a purple blob wreak havoc among anything else, the lone guardian stationed right at the edge of the blackout area was a great fan of it.

Paranoia was a prime source for friendly fire, too. So his comrade made a wise decision when he announced his approach in a loud voice.

"Fucking com won't work from beyond the next door," he said, a vague outline behind the glare of his powerful flashlight. "Fucking blackout! I hate these endless corridors!"

"Afraid of the dark, eh?" the first man scoffed. Paranoia reared its ugly head and he shot quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that the lights were still within sight. _Yep, just one corridor away._

The newcomer took his time before answering. "That's pointless."

"Huh?"

"It's pointless to be afraid of the darkness, you better be afraid of what comes out of the dark."

Checking on the lights again, the guardsman was formulating a response along the lines of "yeah, yeah, whatever," when something black and shiny moved at the edge of his vision.

He whipped round, gun ready, only to meet his own reflection on the other man's visor.

The barest hint of a grin flashed through the shadow beneath. "Afraid of the dark?" the shadows seemed to whisper, throwing his own mockery back at him.

Indignation flared up.

But any furious retort died on the guard's lips. Drowned in a single, horrified gargle. Unseen, unheard a black blade had struck from the darkness, never catching the slightest glimmer of light. Cold, well-honed steel, severing spine and vocal chords alike, cut short his anger.

As the light tilted with the dying man's collapse, it illuminated for a moment a strange silhouette: a black form, darker than the surrounding shadows, framing the slayer's head and shoulders like the travesty of a gloriole. Spiky ebony, the aura of death solidified – but the last grimace on the dead man's face was a blood-spattered grin, nevertheless.

Doom incarnate loomed at his killer's back and paranoia found a last dark solace in the thought of vengeance. Unintentional, mindless vengeance – but a fitting end for one stupid enough to turn his back on the shadows.

"No one ever listens to what I say," 'R' said derisively.

And from the darkness behind him came a deep rumbling sound that might have been a laugh.


	18. One of the crew

Bulky stature, blood-spattered armour, black-visored helmet hiding most of his face – the man jogging down the corridor looked exceedingly dangerous. Any security camera – had there been a functional one within reach – would have immediately labelled him part of the crew.

As he neared the lighted corridor, his com started to buzz. 'R' grinned and started to babble.

"All dead, oh god, they're all dead, it got them, got them all, they are dead, it came from nowhere …"

"Yeah, yeah. Focus, man! Report!"

"… god, oh god, they're all dead, I saw it, ripped them apart, they are all dead …"

"Stop it. Damn you, I said stop it! Get a grip, soldier! Report! Do you hear me?!"

"… dead, they are all dead …"

The merc leader on the com came close to howling in frustration before his uncooperative dialog partner stumbled through an open door, with a solid steel beam stuck between to keep it that way, and his helmet camera linked up with the internal sensor system of the facility.

"Got you. Now calm down, Irons, we have you on the monitor. Help is under way." The chief of security put a hand over the microphone but didn't cut the link when he snapped, "You two, get him! I want the sucker here, _pronto!"_

The indicated pair hastily acknowledged and hurriedly left.

Incidentally, their speed slackened distinctively when they had cleared the next door. No sensible man hastened to join someone who had already lost a few companions to a horrible death.

Their leader didn't take notice. He was trying to decipher the pictures on a side monitor. The camera was online and identified, alright, but what it fed into the system was a shaky picture of the floor that had undergone a distinct redshift.

He returned to the wall-mounted security cameras, three of them, keyed to follow the only moving object within range. Irons moved with a strange gait, half running, half stumbling, and one arm clamped protectively over his stomach, as if he was afraid his guts would fall out, otherwise. Which, considering what he was running from, was not too farfetched a possibility.

One of the cameras swiveled away, readying itself to track whatever had triggered the motion detectors behind it. It got a few very unfriendly comments for its troubles – or rather, the technician in charge did. The chief of security had no interest whatsoever in watching the progress of the men he had sent to fetch Irons. Their helmet cameras _were_ working as intended, so there was no use to divert the attention of the security cameras to them. Within seconds, the wall cameras were switched from movement tracking to single target pursuit.

Therefore, it went unnoticed when the blackness behind the stuck-open door leaked out and flowed upward, bending the gun above the entrance out of shape with only a muffled groan of metal (and an unspectacular switch green dot – red dot on the screen), and melted into the blind spots of the cameras.


	19. Nunc Id Vides, Nunc Ne Vides

The master screen wasn't to blame.

After all, what it was supposed to do was to present sensor input in visual form, reducing huge streams of data to abstract points of light according to its programming. It did just that.

It took the subtle change of spectrum detected by the passive infrared sensors, the breach-of-beam signal from the active infrared sensors, and the sharp increase of back-scattering recorded by an ultrasonic device, checked the origin of the disturbance each of the sensors had determined independently and found a coincidence.

Referring to its internal database, it identified the intruder as human and assigned a white dot of light. Cross-reference linked the life-sign with video-feed from the wall-mounted cameras keeping track of the respective area and the com-link signature displayed by a helmet camera at the same position.

Furthermore, it noted dutifully that the active infrared sensors reported another set of disturbances following the first, while the other sensors remained inconclusive. First-screen automatisms labelled the new signal critical. A purple dot appeared on the screen.

Another sensor sweep half a second later, found the suspicious signals confined to the closer vicinity of the previously identified human. Again sifting through its database, the security system concluded that a) the lack of definite signals was no cause for alarm as it was most likely effected by the presence of the already known heat-generating motion nearby, and b) the second mobile object was in all probability cargo, transported by the human being. It added another cross-reference and extinguished the no longer appropriate light.

Being the ultra-fast real-time display it was, this meant that the purple dot had come and gone literally within the blinking of an eye. Any sufficiently observant person might have perceived it anyway, but as it was, all potential observers had the main part of their focus directed to a side-screen displaying video-feed.

The chief of security, noting the short-lived flicker in peripheral vision, cast a sharp look at the master screen but found it staring unblinkingly back. No further change of status occurred, and as far as the security system was concerned, it had done its job. Upholding its decision in lifeless, logical determination, the screen kept up its unalarmed display until the seasoned mercenary, his suspicions allayed by the lack of warning signals, returned his attention to the side-screens.

So the rogue piece of darkness stayed unnoticed, hugging the ceiling just above the staggering man. Nor did the two securities dispatched to fetch him see any reason to look _up_ when they reached their target, since the shell-shocked survivor had finally lost his balance and was now crawling around aimlessly, constantly mumbling to himself.

The mercs shared an exasperated look, shouldered their guns and bent down to pull him upright.

All three wall-mounted cameras shattered simultaneously.

Something black and shiny swished through the vision range of a helmet camera, before the latter spun through a rollercoaster movement as the helmet went flying, crashed against a wall, and finally came to rest, showing a close-up of the floor slowly drowning in red. Which was more than the others did, since they went simply offline.

The com went wild. Someone screamed, screamed, screamed and suddenly was silenced. Gunfire rang out deafeningly. Ricocheting bullets added sharp impacts and shrill whistles to the cacophony.

And above it all rose the hiss of a thousand angry snakes.


	20. Hunted

The man the cameras in the adjacent corridor detected was certainly not Irons. His movements were well-coordinated, his manner calm, his battle stance as he slowly retreated backwards, keeping up a steady stream of suppressing fire – short, controlled bursts, to keep the enemy from pursuing him through the still open door – showed expert training and experience.

Positive identification proved more difficult, though, as no camera rode aside the visor of his helmet. Three ragged grooves, claw marks, evidence of a close escape where luck more than anything else had kept his head on his shoulders, graced his helmet instead.

The com was working – barely. The wall-mounted cameras showed him to shout over the roar of his heavy gun, yet only garbled noise reached the control room.

This didn't hinder the chief of security to try the other direction.

"Nevins here," he barked into his headset. "We have you on the screen, but can't hear you. Do you get me, soldier?"

The lone fighter banged the com against his shoulder plate a few times – in the time-honored remedy for all things half-broken – gained no success and finally gave the cameras a short thumbs-up.

"Good man. Second door on your left behind you will open when you approach. Get in, we'll take care of the rest."

Whatever answer the solitary survivor intended, he forgot it as the ceiling at the beginning of the corridor suddenly sagged down, the metal plates of the panelling bulging and rippling as something huge passed over them.

The curtain of death and fire he had thrown over the door had kept the beast from passing it, but it had also muffled the noise of the suspended ceiling in the last corridor being shredded, and the wall above the door – already weakened by the cable ducts cutting through it – yield under the hammering of the powerful tail.

Deviating his fire upwards, the soldier might have easily killed the monster, confined in the narrow (for its size) shaft between the solid rock above and the panels beneath, and hindered by the power lines and other installations crowding the space around it. But the first shots tearing through the ceiling, instead of stopping the unseen beast, merely killed the lights in the first half of the corridor, leaving the rest with an uncertain flicker.

Irritated the man held his fire. A nearly fatal mistake.

In the shelter of the momentary lull and the shadows of the darkened corridor, the creature erupted from the ceiling in a spray of flying panel plates. One of them hit the soldier squarely in the chest, throwing him backwards. Firing wildly as he fell, he rolled and came back to his feet, ready to fight.

In the shadows nothing moved.

A creature this huge should not have been able to become invisible simply by ducking into the shadows – the same way a six-meter crocodile shouldn't be able to disappear without trace in a knee-deep garden pool. But nature likes a cruel joke, now and then.

Choosing the better part of valor, the man retreated. Slowly, always facing the hidden threat.

Only when he had reached the indicated door, which opened at his approach as promised, did he turn and run.

Not a moment too early. The door behind him had not yet started to close when the giant tailblade slammed through it, hitting the exact spot where the man would have been, had he continued at his earlier pace.

Reaching the next door a short way ahead, the hunted man slammed his fist against the opening panel while turning to face the monster. Literally. The creature's head just appeared in the opening down the hallway.

The door behind him refused to move.

The black beast jumped into the corridor.

The soldier's gun came up to greet it – and chose this exact moment to jam with a hollow click.

All the man could do was to squeeze himself into a corner and desperately fiddle with his weapon as the monster neared in long, ground-eating pounces.


	21. Directive forces

And then it was solely sheer momentum that carried it on, while the man pressed himself even tighter to the wall, in order to not get fried as a huge thunderstorm's worth of lightning broke loose in front of him.

The black beast screamed. Bluish-white tongues of raw power snaked across the armoured body, the graceful bounds became a stumble, then an uncoordinated flail. The last thing it did, before succumbing to the searing shockers, was to growl. A long, fading sound, like "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

Then it lay still. Alive, yes, tremors ran over the giant body, claws clenched and unclenched spasmodically, the long tail twitched at times. But the black carapace had lost its silken sheen in parts, looking dull and crisp like charcoal instead.

The armoured man smiled cruelly as he stepped towards the fallen monster, heavy gun ready in his hands.

"Don't shoot!" a harsh order came over the com, causing the soldier to look up in surprise. "The thing just tripled its prize on the free market."

"Market? There's a market?" Another security man, safe in the control room, also looked at his leader in surprise.

"There always was and always will be a market for nightmares on sale."

Disbelieving eyes followed the chief of security, as he made his way over to a weapon rack and helped himself to a shock-stick almost his own length, angry eyes and … _calculating_ _ones_.

In the right – or wrong, depending on point of view – company, the laws of the market are as absolute and inevitable as the laws of physics. Money, like mass, exerts a strong attractive force.

By the time Nevins had tested his weapon with an expert flick of the long staff and found the bluish fire crackling inside the bifurcated tip to his satisfaction, the gravitational pull of greed had brought everyone in line.

"Let's go," he said, and all his men complied.


	22. Famous last words

Limp on the floor, the creature was still massive. Built long and slender, it did not weight as much as one might guess, but sheer size took its toll.

A powerloader dragged the stunned monster from the corridor it filled up with its bulk into the closest hall, but there it took all hands – everyone still standing in the whole facility – to load it on a heavy-duty transport platform and secure it there. Half of the men standing guard with the powerful shock-sticks, the other half doing the actual work.

Some went into it with more enthusiasm than others. The lust for money might be able to curb the primordial urge to kill the monster, but it didn't interfere with general vindictiveness.

"Don't take this personally, sleeping beauty" one of the armoured men said, tightening a clamp around the huge head until the sharp-edged steel bit into the shining carapace.

Other men, taking up the joke, followed suit. Within minutes the monster was tied down, more firmly than was absolutely necessary.

"Good work, everybody," Nevins commended his men, "but don't get funny about it before we have the beast back in its cage."

He turned to the soldier beside him and casually touched his shock-stick to the other man's neck. The chief of security watched dispassionately as his victim choked, flailed and crumbled, all muscles contracting simultaneously in uncontrolled spasms, the electrocuted body trying to tear itself apart.

"Call me old-fashioned," Nevins cut into the shocked silence, "but I know the men working for me – and you ain't on the list."

Using a few well-placed kicks to turn the fallen man on his back, he shoved the visor back with the tip of his boot and studied the contorted face underneath.

"One of the scum the doc picks up as appetizers," he continued, causing sniggers all around. "For his pet, of course."

Crouching next to the twitching body, the merc leader picked up the gun nerveless fingers could no longer hold.

"Belief me, boy, it's the best for you," he said, undoing the helmet and bringing the gun to the exposed temple. "In a few hours, you'd be begging me to do this."

The paralyzed man tried to answer him. Nothing but a hoarse whisper, yet under the circumstances remarkable enough for the greying mercenary to bow down further, trying to catch the words.

"What's he saying?" one of the other securities asked.

"Hey beautiful, wanna dance?" Nevins repeated, looking slightly puzzled.

The other men laughed.

"Famous last words," one of them said.


	23. Carnage

Something, maybe a sound, maybe a shadow, maybe a draft of air, warned the merc leader, just in time.

He threw himself forward, onto the prone figure of the man he had electrocuted, grabbed it and rolled over, using the helpless body as a shield.

So he escaped the first sweep of the scythe. Like old Earth's thresher shark, the creature used its elongated tail to smash the close-packed group, to kill and maim the nearest, stun the others.

Chaos erupted. Before the beast had killed with cold efficiency, now it was fury in the ancient sense. _Embodiment of vengeance._

A man who just came to his feet was grappled from behind, strong ebon claws passing through soft flesh to hook under the ribs and tearing sideways. The ribcage splintered open, gore splattered the two men on the floor. A furious screech drowned out the dying man's last scream of agony.

A shrieking body, impaled on a black spike, was slammed into the ground; downed with sufficient force to crush it to a pulp that barely offered drag as the tailblade swung off again.

A gun roared, disgorging a full magazine, held by a hand frozen in a spasm around the trigger. A hand with only half an arm attached to it.

Nevins tried to get his own gun to bear, but true aim _and_ holding fast to a body shaking in the aftershocks of a short-circuited nervous system simply wasn't compatible. And there was no need to provoke the monster further.

Another human shield proved to be useless when a big merc pushed a wounded comrade between himself and the incoming claws and gained nothing: they passed right through. Not in the ghostly, insubstantial sense. In the ghastly, sanguinary sense of punching literally _through_ a grown man's chest and deep into another's. Red to the elbows didn't really do it credit.

In less than half a minute of carnage it was all over. Two lights, one thick and white, the other purple, clustered together in a hall full of residual warmth, were the only life-signs that remained on the abandoned security screen.


	24. Retreat

Inside a hall full of dismembered bodies, a twitching figure might have gone unnoticed. Death so much violent not seldom left a mocking resemblance of life, an aimless movement in its wake.

The ebon beast, pacing the hall stiff-legged and hissing before it settled into taking random bites off the dead bodies, would not have purposely ignored a living creature within reach.

Behind its back, a shaking body piled on top of another moved. Slowly. Unsuspiciously.

Truth to be spoken, it didn't really move at all. It was just dragged along as the supporting body gradually inched towards the nearest door.

Next to the door, stealth was abandoned for bold action. The body jerked upright, resembling more than anything the puppet of an incompetent puppeteer.

So obvious a movement caught, of course, the monster's eye, or lacking that, attention. A mighty leap cleared most of the parting distance. It reared in all-out menace.

Red on jet-black – if any of the slain men's blood still hadn't run off the smooth surface, it didn't show. But light-colored smears flecked the black hull, where blood was drying from half a dozen minor wounds – blood that had eaten through thick steel.

Bloodied or not, the giant beast was fully capable of fighting. Nothing could stop it from ending any life beside its own inside the hall.

And yet – it merely hissed. An angry hiss, a threatening hiss, combined with brandished claws and fiercely swishing tail. A single step and the dripping jaws could still the foreign movement forever and yet – it didn't take the step.

"You don't want your baby to get hurt, do you?" Relief and satisfaction shone around the edges of Nevins's voice.

"Baby?" a hoarse whisper repeated.

"Never knew mommy," 'R' went on, head lolling sidewise in a feeble attempt to turn his head, "but that's not quite what I imagined."

"You don't know nothing about these creatures, do you, boy? The thing knocked you out, you woke up sticking to the wall, got out somehow, and big bad monster over there didn't touch a hair on your head afterwards. Right? Means only one thing: Congratulations, you are pregnant!"

The drawling human voice precipitated another, even more aggressive hiss. Nevins fell silent, concentrating on the double task of opening the door behind him single-handedly while holding fast to 'R's heavy, shivering body with the other arm.

The door did open, halfway before stopped, a narrow opening just perfect for a man but not a monster.

Nevins stepped back, into the corridor behind him, and almost dropped his shield which started to convulse again. With both hands occupied to keep a hold on it, he couldn't close the door.

Nor would he have succeeded, had he tried. Black claws seized the doorframe he had scarcely passed. A loop of sharp-edged scales coiled in the opening and forced the entrance wider under the groan of tortured metal. The giant head safely through the door, the creature hissed again.

A pattern formed.

A slow retreat by Nevins, backwards, heavily burdened. Stepwise pursuit, a constant menace but no more aggression, by the beast.

Each door, opened by human hands, also admitted passage for the monster, voluntarily or not.

The distance varied, but never was the beast more than a bound or two away. The attempt to let the load change sides to free the gun hand, brought it closer, raking claws just barely missing flesh.

And wherever it went, darkness went with it, light after light shattered by the whipping tail. A shifting ebon form among the shadows, weaving from wall to wall and floor to ceiling, it would have been a tricky target, even with hands free.

"Smart beast, ain't you, blackie?" A hint of admiration on the stalked man's tone.

The shadows hissed.

The greying mercenary didn't seem to mind. He talked on, half sorting his thoughts, half patronizing the monster.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of your baby. Only the best for the little one, only serious interestees, only the best bid. You just wait here, all the dead meat laying around should keep you fed for a while. And when I come back, there'll fresh meat for you, and some more cribs for the babies and everyone's gonna have a good life."

A last door slid open behind him. Thick and heavy, solid blocks of metal gliding sidewise, upwards, downwards, retreating circularly in an iris pattern – half a dozen armoured doors stacked into one. And while the last layer still opened, the first started to close again.

Nevins took a chance. Waiting to enter until the last moment, the tailblade darting after him did stop the first door from closing, but couldn't jam the next or risk to get trapped. And opening a sealed door, fully powered and actively resisting, would take time. A lot of time.

The pursuit was ended.


	25. See you in hell!

Dropping his companion unceremoniously to the floor, Nevins busied himself with a terminal on the further wall. He punched in his personal code along with several others before anything happened.

Heavy machinery sprang to life with a dull roar, bars of ever-changing color reported status and settings, and the whole right-hand wall trembled and started to move. Behind it, rows of lights illuminated the bottom of a well, hewn from bedrock, its upper reaches obscured in darkness. A minute later, with air pressure changing perceptibly, a huge platform descended down the elevator shaft.

Eyes lit with the prospect of immediate escape, Nevins turned back to shoulder his burden for the last time.

A hefty kick sent the gun flying. And the helpless man went from flat on his back to battle crouch in one graceful fluid motion.

'R' grinned. Nevins scowled back – then grinned in return. Blades materialized in both opponents' hands as they circled each other like giant toms. The younger man had the speed and graceful strength of a tiger, but the old mercenary had some forty years of experience on a job with a mean life-expectancy of less than ten. An even match.

"Thanks for the ride." 'R' rolled his neck.

"You are dead." Stating the obvious, the tone said, and the former chief of security was not talking about the day before.

'R's grin widened. "So people keep telling me."

The first few strikes came fast, fast as lightning. Blades darting in and out like vipers' tongues. Blocked at the last moment and countered with the next vicious thrust. Or sidestepped, or eluded by another unexpected movement.

'R' drew first blood but showed no triumph. Last blood was what counted in this fight.

But the last hour had taken a toll on both men. Nevins had half dragged, half carried a burden more than his own weight over a considerable distance. A burden not exactly easy to be held. And 'R' had spent a lot of energy in his involuntary exertions.

The next round of the fight was slower, more restrained. The armour both men wore, never designed to ward off blades, little by little came apart as the hard shells deflected the cutting edges towards the softer connecting joints.

One bit remained, however, a slight advantage on the young man's side: the black crust on his hand proved to be stab-proof.

Both knives dripped crimson now.

A fierce slash came for 'R's eyes – another of this kind had left a red line on his cheek – and he fell backwards. Turning a complete somersault with kicks aimed at the groin and throat of his opponent.

The mercenary, over-balanced, could not escape them by retreating – and didn't try. Instead he leaped inside them, stealing the other man's momentum to drop them both and get himself on top. He didn't seek to grapple, the younger man's superior weight and strength would make that suicide, just tried to get a few harsh body blows to bear before withdrawing.

'R', on the other hand, did grapple. Hooking a knee around the other's legs, the free hand in a vice-like grip holding off the threatening knife, he rolled, drawing his foeman underneath.

Nevins, now panting, prolonged the rolling motion and stopped the turn when both lay on their sides again. Hot breath did mingle between blades that almost touched the faces, each hilt encased by two hands forcing, struggling, straining in opposite directions. A deadlock, for the moment.

Eventually someone's strength would falter, and Nevins, facing death who wore a blood-streaked grin, chose not to linger. With powers fuelled on by despair he broke away, pushed back with all the muscles in his legs and forced the pair apart.

Both men rolled to their feet, sizing up each other for a second time.

An even match – maybe at arm's length distance. No longer when it came to closing in.

Time might have favoured any of the two. A wise defence could draw the duel on, goading the younger to expend his surplus powers. But Nevins, all his life, had never played defensive. So, when the other rushed in again, he met him head-on.

Steel clashed on steel and both knives were sent flying.

For a moment, the fighters seemed to contemplate continuation with bare hands, but then both dove in opposite directions. 'R' went for his blade, but Nevins made a dash for the discarded gun, stuck in the gap around the elevator. The younger man beat him for the fraction of a second and turned just as the merc leader reached his weapon. Across the hall, too far to outrun bullets.

Steel whispered silkily as it tore through the air.

The impact, right between the shoulder blades, drove all the air from Nevins's lungs. His fingers clenched around the trigger. Something exploded in the bowels of machinery beneath the elevator and all lights on the platform went pitch-black.

The greying mercenary rolled over on his back, crimson foam forming on his lips – and a triumphant smile.

"Got you, boy," he said, forcing each word against the blood welling up in his lungs. "Lift's dead, only door leads to the monster, baby monster in your guts – you're dead, as good as me. See you in hell, boy, see you in hell!"


	26. Missed me, beautiful?

It took some time to reopen the flight of doors. The innermost was wrecked, bent out of order, the second barely scratched. Beyond the corridor loomed dark – and empty.

'R' looked up. "Missed me, beautiful?"

The shadows just above his head unfolded. The giant creature carefully arranged its limbs around the figure it threatened to squash and dropped into its usual crouch before him. The diamond-shaped head inclined in greeting, it seemed to carefully take in its partner's sight.

A dozen minor cuts and other injuries. The armour and disguise all stripped away. The heavy gun slung casually over his shoulder.

_The gun casually over his shoulder._

The neckshield once again produced the clipboard.

MISSED ME, BEAUTIFUL? the writing echoed. Then the first word was erased and replaced by TRUST.

'R' quirked an eyebrow. "Not again?"

A claw reached tentatively for his torso, trailing a line over his body that would have gutted him had it been spiteful.

YOU TRUST MY WORDS? NOT HIS?

"Was he right?" 'R' sounded more exasperated than distrustful.

NO

"Must be a telepath thing," the man murmured, "always expecting people to take things at face value."

Louder – as if it made a difference for the beast – he said, "Take advice from someone who knows them: never trust a merc! Not as far as you can throw them – and _that_ goes especially for you!"


	27. Out

* * *

The shaft was deep, with smooth perpendicular walls studded with rings of downward reaching spikes sizzling with hardly restrained voltage.

It was, however, not wide enough to not be crossed in one leap by the monster. Passing from wall to wall whenever such a barrier tried to obstruct the way, the creature glided up the well, according to its very own deal with the force of gravity.

'R', not included in the covenant, relied on being wedged between the strong, stiff shoulder spikes.

A dreary hangar, lighting coming up automatically as soon as something moved inside, stood on the ground atop the yawning shaft. Cold, cleared-out emptiness, a good-sized transport could find shelter here, but in its place stood – space.

Not discouraged, 'R' scanned the wide interior, settling at last at the left wall, before a plate of steel not different from the rest – at least to unaccustomed eyes. A bit of skill and the point of his knife removed it to disclose a terminal. Repeating the long train of codes Nevins had used to summon the elevator, 'R' finally was deigned worthy of a reaction.

"Emergency code alpha, chief of security, acknowledged. Require second authorization."

The late doctor Verndyke seemed to be authority enough. His code and keycard caused a portion of the floor to retreat, a slow but powerful elevator purring deep beneath. A squat, angular form rose from its hidden resting place, a five-man glider. More of a lifeboat than a full-grown spaceship, but fully functional.

A lifeboat, though, that could not have contained the whole crew of the facility if they had filled all the space within the hull completely. Someone had allowed for heavy casualties when planning this ship as a last resort.

_And had been proven right._

The same plan had foreseen an urgency to leave. As soon as the glider stood on even ground, it sprang to life. The landing ramp opened with a soft hiss, inside lights blossomed one by one as automatic check-ups ran through their routines.

'R' gave the ship's controls a quick once-over, then busied himself with the terminal again.

The hangar gates opened.

Outside was bleakness, scarcely lighted. Heavy clouds shrouded the sky, barren rocks and greyish dust, blown by a whipping wind, dominated the scenery. The air was dry and thin and bitingly cold. Limbo without lost souls for company.

"Where do you want to go?"

HERE – THERE IS LIFE, I FEEL IT: NO HUMANS – GOOD HUNT

'R' nodded, understandingly. He held out his hand, ebon hide slowly shedding but still visible. A claw in true black armour reached out carefully. They met in greeting, parted – and then the huge beast turned and bounded off, in wide, fluid pounces, into the wilderness beyond the gates.

As the small glider left the hangar, its fiery tail illuminated the gloomy landscape for miles. Rolling hills and jagged cliffs were thrown into stark relief.

One silhouette seemed particularly bizarre. Perched on an outcrop of sable basalt, a giant form reared suddenly, bathed in the flickering flames. Obsidian blazed red and white-hot by reflection.

The ship ascended steeply, towards the beckoning stars, and grey clouds swallowed it. And with the light extinguished, blackness was gone as well.

_The end._

(Almost)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concluding remarks:
> 
> Many thanks to all faithful readers. Hope you enjoyed the ride.
> 
> For those who might enjoy rereading the story with the benefit of hindsight, there is only one man in the whole story using the words 'beauty' and 'beautiful'. Furthermore, in chapters 20 and 21, the male lead (tall, dark, dangerous…) is identified as 'soldier' and 'armoured man', respectively. If you see a pair of active combatants without one of them being a dead body at the end of the scene, you've already met them in chapter one.
> 
> For anyone interested in 'B's background, check out 'Rearrangement'.


End file.
